


A Series of Quite Unfortunate Events

by Whumpadoodle



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bedridden, Bloody Hands, Bruises, Caregiver, Drowning, Electrocution, Exhaustion, Fever, Friendly Fire, Gen, Hypothermia, Insomnia, Kidnapped, Manhandling, Restraints, Self-Sacrifice, Severe Illness, Stranded, Torture, Whump, Whumptober, betrayed, broken ribs, concussion, drugged, harsh climate, hostage, no stop!, poisoned, showdown, siezure, stabbed, whumptober18, ”I can’t walk”, ”stay”
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-02 06:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16299926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whumpadoodle/pseuds/Whumpadoodle
Summary: The Winchesters join forces with an old friend on a hunt and wind up face to face with their worst nightmare—a writer with a month’s worth of Whump prompts.





	1. Days 1 - 10

Daisy eased around the corner, shotgun at the ready. The werewolf pack they were hunting had taken refuge in a large, abandoned storage complex, and Daisy and the Winchester brothers had been forced to split up in order to cover the entire area. It was already nearing midnight, and all she heard was the sound of her footsteps and her breathing. 

In the next moment, a roar of pain split the night, trailing off into strangled gasps. Daisy whipped her head around, located the direction of the sound, then took off at a dead sprint. She skidded to a halt at the loading dock that led to a long hallway, lined with retractable doors. After listening for another moment to get her bearings, she ran down the hallway, shotgun still in her hands. One door was open at the very end of the hallway, before it branched off to either side. She raised her weapon and stepped into the room. 

Dean lay on the floor, half-slumped against the wall, a bloody knife discarded next to him. His hands pressed against his thigh, trying to staunch the flow of blood. 

After one more look up and down the hallway, Daisy ran to his side and dropped to her knees. “Dean!” she said sharply. He hadn’t registered her presence yet, his attention entirely on the blood welling up between his fingers.

Dean lifted one hand and reached towards Daisy, his skin spiderwebbed with blood. “Daisy, behind you!”

Daisy spun, bringing her weapon to bear on the door and firing at the first glimpse of fang and fur. The werewolf yelped and retreated from the spray of silver fragments. Daisy followed, firing again and again until the creature dropped and did not move. Only then did she return to Dean, pulling down the retractable door after her.

Dean grunted as Daisy wrapped a bandage firmly around his leg. The knife had missed the major artery in his thigh, but it was still deep. Daisy pulled it as tightly as she dared, wanting to staunch the flow of blood without cutting off his circulation entirely. 

“Sam?” Dean asked hoarsely, his voice raw from pain. 

She shook her head. “Haven’t seen him. I’ll go find him, you try to rest.” 

Before Dean could protest, she had already left. She was gone for nearly an hour. 

Dean tried to sleep, but every time he closed his eyes he caught sight of a flash of metal, a glint of fangs, or a wolffish snarl. He started at the softest creak, at every whisper of motion. Although loss of blood settled fatigue heavily over him, he could not sleep. His eyes would close, his chin would come to rest on his chest, and then a jolt of panic ripped through him, snapping him to complete wakefulness again and again.  
***

As Dean tried to sleep and Daisy carefully searched through the storage facility, Sam was on the trail of a particularly sloppy werewolf. He had caught sight of the creature just outside the main building and had tailed him all the way to the edge of the compound. He checked the cartridges in his weapon, a Taurus 99. 

A dozen yards away, Daisy emerged from a building to see Sam silhouetted in the moonlight, raising his gun to aim and ready to round a corner. She also saw a werewolf crouched just beyond that corner, waiting for him. 

“No, Sam! Stop!”

Daisy’s warning registered just in time. Sam pulled back as the werewolf leaped forward, claws and fangs catching the moonlight. Its front paw swiped at Sam, opening a bloody gash across his cheek. Sam fired, and the creature dropped like a stone, a silver bullet lodged in its heart. 

Sam staggered back, pressing one hand to his face, the other hanging loosely onto his gun. Daisy ran for him, bracing his arm to keep him upright. He pulled his hand back, sticky with blood, and gaped at it. Daisy gasped, seeing the black streaks crawling under his skin away from the gash, spidering out in an intricate web. Sam blinked, then collapsed to his knees before toppling face-first into the dirt. 

Daisy gritted her teeth and heaved him onto his back, then carefully examined his face. The gash ran from his left temple to just near his mouth, deep enough that blood still flowed. She traced a finger along the black streaks that were slowly spreading across the entire left side of his face. Sam’s eyes stared up blankly, and his mouth moved without sound. Tiny white flecks appeared on his lower lip. 

The werewolf must have had something coating his claws, she decided. Something nasty for just such an occasion. There was no time to find out what it was, no time to call for help. At a loss for what else to do, she reached in her satchel and pulled out a vial of holy water, then upended it over the gash. 

There was a faint hissing sound, then the blood began to bubble and turned black before returning to a proper red color. The black tendrils shrank smaller and shorter, until they disappeared completely. Daisy sat back on her heels and breathed a sigh of relief as Sam blinked, focused, then pushed himself upright. 

“What happened?” Sam asked thickly, shaking his head and sending small droplets of blood flying. 

“Werewolves and poison,” Daisy said shortly, reaching back in her satchel for her first aid supplies. She withdrew a packet of gauze, tore open the packaging, and pressed it against Sam’s face. Crimson soaked through almost immediately. 

Just then, sirens pierced the night, and Sam and Daisy were awash in the alternating blue and red glow of a sheriff’s car. A tall, burly man dressed in khaki stepped out, hand on the gun at his hip. 

“You folks all right?” His small-town, Southern accent stretched the syllables into a friendly question.

Daisy exchanged a brief glance with Sam, then called out in reply. “A wild animal just attacked us!” She tried to sound rattled. “My friend is hurt!” 

The sheriff moved closer, shining a flashlight around the area, looking for signs of an attack. Daisy risked a surreptitious glance out of the corner of her eye at the werewolf still in the shadows. Fortunately, it had completed its transformation and was fully a wolf. 

“Y’all are lucky,” the officer commented. “There have been a few reports of wolves in this area. They can be dangerous. Even deadly.” The light illuminated Sam’s face.

“You’re bleeding, son,” he commented evenly. “I’ll give you a ride into town, and we’ll get you patched up.”

Sam opened his mouth to protest, then winced at the pain the movement caused. Instead, he allowed the officer and Daisy to pull him to his feet, where he swayed unsteadily before catching his balance. 

“Here, I’ll take that.” The sheriff reached out and lifted the gun out of Sam’s hands before he could protest. He gripped Sam’s upper arm firmly and led them towards his vehicle.

“Wait,” Daisy began. “I have to—”

“No, you don’t.” Suddenly, the man’s voice was a snarl.

Daisy reacted immediately, stepping back and drawing her weapon. She was too slow. With blinding speed, claws that glinted in the moonlight swiped the gun away, sending Daisy staggering a step back. 

The officer tightened his grip on Sam’s arm and snarled, a hint of fang showing. “Get back, now!”

Sam recoiled and tried to twist away, but the werewolf held him fast. Sharp claws pressed into his bicep, not quite piercing the skin. Then Sam’s own weapon settled under his jaw. 

“Back off,” the werewolf repeated, “or Sam Winchester dies here and now.”

Sam could feel the blood dripping down his face and off his chin, the pressure of razor-sharp tips against his arm, and the cold metal of his gun against the underside of his jaw. He caught Daisy’s eye and shook his head the barest fraction. Daisy’s jaw muscles bunched, then released as she took one very small step backward. 

The werewolf twisted so that he did not put Daisy behind him, but rather backed up to the car, forcing Sam with him. When they were fifteen feet or so from Daisy, the pressure on his arm eased, though not the pressure from the barrel of the gun. A pair of cold metal circles was pressed into his hands. 

“Put those on,” was the terse order. 

Sam gritted his teeth and slipped the handcuffs around his wrists. At least they were in front of him. 

“Get in the backseat,” the monster growled. Sam opened the door and slid in, noting the depressingly solid metal screen separating the front seat from the back. The door slammed shut behind him. 

Sam watched, fighting despair, as the werewolf circled around the car, aiming his weapon at Daisy as he did so, then slid into the driver’s seat. He immediately started the engine, threw the gear shift into reverse, and sent the vehicle squealing across the asphalt while Sam was flung sideways into the door. 

Daisy snatched up her weapon and fired four quick shots at the vehicle’s tires, missing all four times. She watched with helpless rage as the car sped off down the long driveway, Sam locked in the backseat. Blood rushed to her face, making her head spin for a moment. She squeezed her eyes shut, then took quick stock of her surroundings. There were no other werewolves in sight. She had to get back to Dean. 

Daisy wanted to run, but found that her head was pounding too hard for that. She settled for a brisk walk instead. Spots danced briefly before her eyes as she reached the door, and she held onto the handle a moment to steady herself. Her body felt strange. She shivered, although the night was not cold. 

She made her way down the long corridor to where Dean hopefully still waited. Daisy hoped that his wound had at least mostly stopped bleeding, since they were going to have to move in a hurry. She dreaded giving him the news that Sam was gone.

She rounded the corner and saw the heap of dead werewolf. She turned and raised the door of the unit where Dean waited. As she did, a wave of heat washed over her, sapping her strength. She reached a hand to her forehead and found that it was covered in sweat. 

“Daisy?” Dean looked up at her from where he still rested on the floor, propped against the wall, gun in hand. Blood soaked the bandage around his thigh, but he looked alert.

She managed one step into the small room, no larger than seven feet square, before her legs suddenly refused to support her weight and she dropped to her knees. 

“Daisy!” Dean’s voice was sharp with worry.

Slowly, Daisy raised her head to look at her friend, but his face blurred. “Dean?” Her own voice was scarcely more than a whisper, and she reached out a hand to him. 

“Daisy, what—your hand!” Dean shifted closer, grimacing as he moved his injured leg. 

His words seemed as if they were coming through a long tunnel. Daisy was burning with heat even as her body was wracked with shivers. She blinked, trying to focus on her hand, to see what Dean saw. 

Her right hand, which had held the gun when the werewolf had swiped it out of her hands, was covered with thin, black tendrils emanating from a small cut on the back of her knuckles. The same black tendrils that had covered Sam’s face not ten minutes earlier. Then Daisy pitched forward, landing at Dean’s side. 

Dean reached out and touched her face, then recoiled. “Your skin is on fire!” 

“Water,” Daisy slurred, feeling the press of darkness around her as she desperately clung to consciousness. Dean’s hand was touching her forehead again, and his fingers were blessedly cold. “Holy water.” She could only pray that she had said those last words aloud as the darkness swept up and overwhelmed her, dragging her into a feverish sleep.  
***

Daisy woke with a start, coughing and spluttering. Slowly, she sat up and wiped water from her eyes with the back of her hand. When she could see and breathe again, she leaned back against the wall, matching Dean’s own exhausted pose. She glanced over at him, and saw he still held the flask of holy water. She looked down at her right hand. The cut was still there, but the black tendrils had vanished completely. She breathed a sigh of relief. 

“You gonna tell me what’s going on? What was that, and where’s Sam?”

Daisy nodded and took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “I found Sam,” she began. “He has just been attacked by a werewolf who sliced his cheek open. The same black stuff started crawling across his face. I dumped holy water on it, and it disappeared.” She took another breath, then let it out slowly. 

“And? Where’s Sam?”

“There was another werewolf,” she said quietly, not meeting Dean’s eyes, “dressed as a sheriff. He helped get Sam up, but when I was going to tell him I needed to find you, he shoved Sam into the back of his car and drove off. I tried to stop him, but I couldn’t. I came here instead, and....” She ran out of words, and her voice trailed off. 

There was a moment of silence. Then Dean swore. “Help me up,” he said sharply, shoving the flask back in his bag.

Daisy scrambled to her feet, the dizziness and heat from just minutes before completely gone. She grasped Dean’s outstretched arm and hauled him up, then steadied him while he found his balance. 

“Dean, you can’t even walk,” she protested. 

“Can too,” he gritted stubbornly between clenched teeth. 

With an exasperated exhale, Daisy tugged his left arm over her shoulder and took as much of his weight as she could. Together, they staggered down the hall and toward the exit where the car was parked, their journey narrated by Dean’s colorful vocabulary.

For the sake of anonymity, they had left the Impala at the motel and taken Daisy’s beat-up Taurus. Daisy shoved the exit door open with her hip and maneuvered herself and Dean out onto the landing. 

And then froze. 

Daisy’s Ford Taurus, illuminated by a flickering streetlight, sported four freshly slashed tires.  
***

Officer Werewolf, as Sam had mentally dubbed him, wasn’t much for conversation. Sam had tried a few times, without luck. He gave up and instead tried to track where they were going. Landmarks were difficult to spot in the dark, but Sam knew that had driven back into town and passed through it. Now they were at least fifteen miles north of city limits and traveling down a lonely highway.

Sam tugged at the handcuffs again, wishing for the hundredth time that he had a bobby pin or something that could be used to pick the lock, when the car drew to a sudden stop outside a rundown farmhouse. Officer Werewolf got out and yanked open the back door, beckoning curtly to Sam. For a moment, he toyed with the idea of refusing to leave the car, then quickly dismissed that notion as suicidal and slid out. 

The werewolf laid a heavy hand on the back of his neck and gathered up a fistful of shirt. Sam stumbled forward along the dirt path that led to the farmhouse. The front door was ajar, and they didn’t bother to knock. Officer Werewolf shoved Sam inside, and the momentum drove him to his knees. 

He caught his balance and looked around. Dread coiled around his stomach as he counted seven werewolves, all in various stages of transformation, standing in a half-circle around him. 

“Sam Winchester.” The voice was a part rumble, part growl. 

Sam looked to the speaker and immediately pegged him for the alpha. He loomed above his captive, and every other werewolf took small step back in deference. Sam cleared his throat. 

“What’s it to you?” 

That prompted a low, sinister chuckle. “We’ve been looking for you for a long time. For you and for your brother.”

Sam set his jaw, refusing to be cowed. “We move around a lot.”

“We’ve noticed. You move around all over the country. Hunting, killing, destroying, leaving a path of blood behind you.”

“What’s your point?”

“So much killing,” the Alpha repeated. “You’ve made quite a few enemies, too.”

Sam met his eyes squarely. “Like you?” 

The Alpha’s smile was bristling with fangs. “Exactly like us. Your brother, Dean Winchester, killed my father.”

“I’d give you my condolences, but….” Sam shrugged. 

He never saw the blow coming. The Alpha was blindingly fast, and Sam sprawled on the ground. A hand grasped his shirtfront and hauled him to his feet, then another blow sent him flying backwards, crashing into the wall. Sam slid down the drywall and collapsed in a heap, blood dripping from a cut on his mouth. Two younger werewolves flanked him, grabbing his arms and dragging him back to the Alpha. Their leader settled his hand under Sam’s chin and wrenched his head up. 

“Where is your brother?” he hissed. 

“Screw. You.” Sam spat at the werewolf, spattering him with blood. That earned him a sound beating from the two eager pups at his sides. 

When they finally stepped back, Sam was on his knees, fighting to catch his breath. Blood trickled down his face and dripped to the floor. His shoulders ached from being held fast while his body was pummeled. 

“Take him to the back. Give him some time to reflect,” ordered the Alpha. 

Sam’s guards dragged him further into the gloom of the farmhouse. They brought him to a small back room that had likely been a pantry and dumped him on the floor. He coughed and gasped, trying to gain some sort of equilibrium with the pain. As he struggled to breathe, the shorter of the two werewolves reached down and uncuffed him, arranged his arms on either side of a radiator pipe, and replaced the restraints. They left without a word, leaving Sam alone in the silence and darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 Prompts: Stabbed, bloody hands, insomnia, “No, stop!”, poisoned, betrayed, kidnapped, fever, stranded, bruises


	2. Days 11-20

Daisy growled curses at the werewolves who had left them stranded at the storage facility. She eased Dean onto the steps so he could sit, then took them two at a time until she reached her car and crouched beside it. All four tires were beyond repair, and the car rested on its rims. Daisy scowled and slapped at the tires irritably. 

“Now what?” she asked Dean, trying to keep the despair from her voice. Sam was traveling further and further out of reach with every minute that passed, and they were stuck in the middle of nowhere. 

That’s when they heard the rumble of engines, at least two of them, approaching the building from the far side. 

Dean grunted and used the railing to haul himself to his feet. “We’ve gotta get out of here,” he said flatly. Daisy didn’t argue. 

She helped Dean down the steps and slung his arm around her shoulder again. “Which way?”

He pointed towards the woods to the west. “There’s a stream that way, it could help mask our scent.”

Daisy grimaced at the reminder of who was hunting them. She set off for the tree line, trying to balance the need for haste and Dean’s injury. They had just made it into the forest when headlights passed over them and two SUVs parked next to the Taurus. Dean and Daisy dropped to the ground, and Dean stifled a cry of pain. 

They watched as six men, or rather six werewolves, emerged from the SUVs and disappeared inside the building. When the door shut behind them, Daisy rolled to her feet. Dean grabbed her arm, and they headed deeper into the woods without a word. 

The moon had started to sink, and there was very little light left to navigate by. They had to slow their pace to keep from tripping over rocks and uneven ground. Soon, the only assurance they had that they were continuing in the right direction was the quiet gurgle of a stream. 

The calm breeze that had gently stirred leaves when they had first arrived at the storage facility was turning into a brisk fall wind. Daisy shivered and wished she had worn something warmer than her light jacket. Dean, on the other hand, had no jacket at all, just a t-shirt, and showed no signs of chill. 

After fifteen minutes of labored hiking, they reached the stream and paused to catch their breath. Dean removed his arm from Daisy’s shoulders and straightened, cautiously resting a bit of weight on his injured leg. 

“Can we cross?” he whispered. Even as deep in the woods as they had gone, they both knew to be cautious. Werewolves had keen senses. 

“I’ll look,” Daisy replies softly. She walked a few yards upstream, noting the chunks of ice that floated in the water. She figured the stream must originate directly from snowpack in the nearby mountains. There appeared no good place to cross upstream, so she traveled downstream before returning to Dean. 

“Anything?”

She nodded reluctantly and drew close enough to speak quietly and be heard. “Nothing upstream. About twenty yards downstream, there’s a log. It’s not wide, but looks stable.” She pressed her lips together for a moment. “I don’t know—”

“I can cross it,” he growled.

“Dean—”

“We’re wasting time,” he snapped. “Time we need to spend looking for Sam. I said I can do it.”

She knew it was useless to argue with him, so Daisy didn’t even try. They maneuvered the sixty feet downstream to the fallen log that spanned the stream. Dean was breathing heavily by the time they reached it, but refused to stop. 

Daisy convinced him to let her cross first and gingerly made her way along the log, looking for rotted limbs or slippery moss. She crossed without incident, then turned to see that Dean was already halfway across behind her. He flashed her a cheeky grin, then carefully took another step. 

His leg, already quivering from the strain of their midnight stroll and now being asked to balance, gave out. It buckled, sending Dean crashing into the frigid water. Daisy clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from calling out and scrambled to the bank. 

Fortunately, the water was shallow enough to allow Dean to stand, shaking water from his face and hair. He shivered, slipped, and briefly disappeared beneath the surface again. When he regained his feet, Daisy had one hand braced on the log and another stretched towards him. He grabbed it and let her guide him to dry land before collapsing. 

Daisy quickly ran her hands over him, looking for any fresh injury. Other than a few scrapes that did not look serious, Dean appeared to be unharmed. Then she noticed how badly his teeth were chattering. She shrugged out of her jacket and used it as a towel to wipe off his face, neck, and arms. His skin was icy to the touch. 

“Dean, you’re shaking,” she said, alarmed. 

“It’s noth—it’s nothing,” he gasped, holding onto his leg with one hand and to her with the other. “I’ll be, I’ll be fi—fine.”

Daisy bit her lip, but had no choice but to believe him. She steadied him as he stood to his feet, and noticed that she was taking more of his weight this time. Instead of barely tolerating her assistance, he was now leaning heavily against her. She felt every shiver and shudder, and each step was excruciating. 

They trudged along, Daisy trying to convince Dean that they should rest, and Dean protesting that they were still too exposed. It was hard to refute that logic, especially when Daisy kept jumping at the slightest rustle. 

After what seemed like an eternity, but couldn’t have been more than another fifteen minutes, they reached a small clearing. In the center sat a cabin with a large sign over the front door that read, “Hunter’s Rest.”

The cabin was deserted and mostly empty. Daisy flipped on the lights and saw a small kitchenette, a couple bunks against the wall, and chairs by a fireplace. Relief swept over her. She turned to Dean, who had grown uncharacteristically quiet, and gasped. His lips were blue, and his eyelids were drooping. He had not stopped shivering. 

Daisy ushered him to a large armchair and built up a fire, sending silent thanks to whoever had stocked the cabin with firewood, kindling, and matches. She moved his chair as close as she dared. 

“Dean?” She had to repeat his name twice before he looked up at her. “Dean! We have to get you warm.” She helped him strip off his wet t-shirt, then went to pull blankets from the bunk as he peeled off the rest of his sodden clothes. He was scarcely aware of her presence as she bundled him in the blankets, then laid his dripping garments by the fire to dry. When he looked to be nodding off, she crouched in front of him. 

“Dean!” she said sharply. His eyes snapped open. “Dean, you have to stay awake. Do you hear me? Stay. Awake.”

His green eyes drifted out of focus, then returned to her face. He nodded, teeth still chattering. Daisy added another log to the fire, then wedged herself between Dean and the side of the chair. She wrapped her arms around him, willing her warmth into his body. The fire crackled in the hearth, bathing the room in a warm glow. Eventually, his shivers lessened, and his teeth chattered more quietly. When his skin was no longer ice cold, she let him drift off to sleep.  
***

Sam woke with a start, surprised to have drifted off. His arms were stiff from being held immobile next to a radiator, and his body ached from the beating he had received earlier. He struggled to a sitting position, trying to ignore the pounding in his head. 

Light glimmered around the edges of the door, and Sam thought it might be daylight. He spent the next several minutes trying to free himself, but without success. The handcuffs chafed his wrists, but refused to slip free. The radiator held his arms in such an awkward position that Sam couldn’t properly see the lock. He rested for a time before renewing his efforts. 

He was nearing the point of roaring with frustration when the door burst open. Harsh light flooded into the room, and he flinched away from it. Two large men entered, not the eager pups from the night before who might have been sloppy. One of them grabbed Sam’s arm roughly while the other released him. Without a word, they ushered him with more force than was necessary to the main room of the house. 

Two more werewolves in the shape of men stood next to a chair in the middle of the room, and Sam was pushed unceremoniously into the chair. His hands were yanked behind his back and secured again with the cuffs. Sam could feel dread mounting and did his best to keep it at bay. One of the werewolves withdrew a long, slender rod made of metal with a prong at the very tip. He planted himself squarely in front of his captor and brandished it. 

“Where is Dean Winchester?”

“Screw you.” Sam set his jaw and glared up at him. 

The werewolf set the tip of the rod against Sam’s shoulder and pressed a button. A scream tore from Sam’s throat before he could stop it as the voltage ripped through his body and wracked him with pain. He jerked back, panting. 

“Where is your brother?” 

Sam ran his tongue over his lips, checking for blood. He lifted his head and met the werewolf’s gaze directly. “Screw. You.” 

This time the rod delivered the shock to the muscle that connected his shoulder to his neck. Sam roared and yanked back so fiercely it made his head spin. 

“I can do this all day,” his tormentor growled. “Tell us where Dean is, and we’ll kill you quickly.” 

Sam gasped for air, his chest heaving, and spat his answer. “Screw you!” The next shock and those that followed made him howl with agony.  
***

When Daisy was satisfied that Dean was regaining his body heat, she eased off of the chair, careful not to wake him. Her first order of business was to explore the cabin and see what supplies were available. All of her emergency bags were in the trunk of her car back at the storage facility. 

The cabin was small, maybe five hundred feet square with a small bathroom/shower combo at the back. The kitchenette consisted of a table and four chairs, a sink, a small camp stove, a mini fridge, and a few cabinets. Daisy rummaged through those and found some coffee, cans of chili, cans of beans, and cans of peaches. It wasn’t much, but enough to get by for a couple days.

There were two sets of bunk beds against the far wall. Each had held several folded blankets before Daisy had grabbed most of them to bundle around Dean. There were footlockers tucked under the bunks, and Daisy dragged them out. Inside, she found more blankets, a map, bandages, and a guest book. Flipping through the book, Daisy learned that the cabin was mostly frequented by deer hunters. She hoped that none of them were planning to show up. 

There were a few dusty books, a handful of dishes, and an abandoned pair of binoculars, but nothing else of use in the cabin. Most disheartening was the lack of first aid supplies. They needed to clean Dean’s leg wound soon, and what she had in her satchel wouldn’t help much, either. The bandages would be helpful, but he would need antiseptic, antibiotic ointment, and painkillers, at the very least. 

Daisy found a pot, filled it with water, and set it to boil for coffee. By the time the scent of the strong brew roused Dean, the first rays of sun were glimmering in the sky. Dean sat up and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his hand, then ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it tousled. He looked around blearily, until he spotted Daisy. 

“Where are we? What time is it?”

Daisy poured the coffee into a pair of mugs and brought him one. “A hunting cabin. And it’s just after dawn.” 

Dean slid one arm free of the blankets and accepted the steaming mug. “Were we followed?”

“If we were, they’re keeping quiet about it. I haven’t seen anybody. Or anything.” 

Dean sipped his coffee, absorbing the information. “What’s our plan?”

“Well, you’re going to stay here to get warm and rest your leg. I’m heading back to the car to get our supplies.”

Dean straightened. “I’m going with you.” 

Daisy almost smiled, but caught herself just in time. “No, you’re not.” She gathered his clothes from in front of the hearth where they had dried and passed them to him. “But there’s a small bathroom through that door, if you want to get dressed.”

Dean accepted the bundle of cloth. “I’ll get dressed. And then we’ll leave.” 

Dean acted as if he had not heard her, and so Daisy acted as if she had not heard him. She took a long drink of coffee and kept her eyes averted while Dean wrestled the blankets across the cabin to get dressed. 

Even considering Dean’s injury and weakened state, it took him longer than she expected. Finally, she stood and crossed the room to check on him. Dean sat on the bathroom floor, his shirt only halfway on, leaning against the wall. He was sound asleep. Daisy allowed herself a quiet chuckle before she knelt next to him and tapped him on the shoulder. 

“Dean. Dean, wake up.” 

He awoke abruptly, blinking and looking around wildly. “I’m up, I’m up.” 

Daisy helped him finish pulling his shirt over his head, then gave him a hand up. He swayed dangerously for a moment, then steadied himself. 

“Okay,” he said after a long moment. “I’m ready. Let’s go.”

“Dean.” Daisy shook her head, partly from exasperation, partly from admiration. “Dean, stay. You’re not going anywhere. You’re dead on your feet, and you need the rest.”

“Am not,” he said stubbornly. “And I’m going.” 

“Dean—” Daisy started, then broke off. Dean had set his jaw and shaken off her arm. He stepped out of the bathroom, and Daisy fell back to make way for him. 

Dean took four steps into the middle of the cabin, then his leg buckled, and he collapsed into heap.  
***

Sam gritted his teeth against the fresh jolt of electricity from the rod jammed against his ribs. Every time the werewolf chose a new location to shock, it was punctuated with demands for Dean’s location. Sam eventually had stopped responding with his defiant “Screw you,” just to focus on breathing in and breathing out. The rod was removed and not immediately replaced. The moments without pain dragged on, until Sam had regained enough of an equilibrium to bring his head up, trying to see what had caused the momentary respite. 

He was not comforted by the answer. The man who had spoken to him the night before, the Alpha, stood in front of him, regarding him with frank curiosity. His werewolf minions had taken several deferential steps back, leaving nothing between the monster and Sam. 

“You annoy me, Sam Winchester,” the Alpha said frankly. “I should be impressed by your tolerance for pain, but frankly, it’s just annoying.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Sam rasped, his voice raw from the screams that had ripped from his lungs.

“Don’t.” The Alpha flexed one hand, claws appearing and vanishing so quickly that Sam wondered if he had actually seen them. “I don’t enjoy being annoyed.” He stepped forward and grabbed Sam’s jaw, wrenching his face up and forcing him to look at him. “In fact, I hate it.”

Sam’s lip curled into a sneer. “Screw you,” he whispered hoarsely.

The Alpha released his jaw abruptly, drew back his arm and brought the back of his hand crashing into the side of Sam’s face. “Where is Dean?” he bellowed. “Where is he?”

Sam didn’t respond. He was too busy trying to blink away the flashing lights that danced in front of his eyes. He didn’t even see the next blow coming. It landed on his jaw again, snapping his head around. He shook his head, clearing away some of the cobwebs, and focused on the Alpha. 

The werewolf had unsheathed a claw. He drew close to Sam and set the tip of the claw against his neck, tracing the pulse of his carotid artery up to his jawline. He applied pressure where the jaw meets the ear, and Sam struggled to keep from crying out.

“This isn’t bravery,” he snapped, his voice rising. “It’s stupidity. We will find your brother, with or without you.”

“Then I choose without me.”

The Alpha drove his fist into Sam’s stomach, doubling him over. He fought to draw air into his lungs as the werewolf leaned close and whispered in his ear. “That is not your choice to make.”

Sam, gasping for breath, managed to choke out, “Screw. You.”  
***

Daisy bit back the words “I told you so” that formed on her tongue, barely catching them before they slipped out. She walked over to the pile of Dean, who was frowning, as if trying to figure out where he was. 

“Dean. Go to bed. You’re exhausted.” 

Dean didn’t answer, didn’t even look at her. Daisy heaved a sigh, then tugged at his arms until he was sitting up. She crouched at his side and pulled one arm over her shoulder, then slowly stood up. Dean tried to help, bracing one hand on his uninjured leg and holding tightly to her with the other, but they swayed dangerously. Daisy had to set him down again before they both crashed to the floor. 

“I’m okay,” Dean protested, the words half-slurred. “I don’t need help. Let’s go.” 

Daisy shook her head and didn’t bother to respond. She set her feet and caught the back of Dean’s belt, using it as a handle to bring him to his feet. This time, they had better success and remained upright. Slowly, Daisy led Dean across the floor towards the bunks. 

When they finally arrived next to the nearest bunk, Dean was breathing heavily with exertion. She lowered him to sit on the thin mattress, and he immediately fell back, eyes closing before he landed. Daisy maneuvered his legs up onto the bed as well, then reached for a blanket. She tucked the covering around him, not wanting him to catch chill while she was gone. 

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, Dean,” she whispered, smoothing his hair back. He didn’t stir. 

Daisy grabbed her shotgun and her satchel, then set out into the crisp dawn air. 

Dean woke suddenly, startled by the sound of the closing door. He pushed himself up to his elbows and looked around at the empty cabin, then swore softly as he realized Daisy was nowhere in sight. He tried to sit up completely, but could only manage to lean against the wall. 

He pushed the blanket away angrily, furious that he couldn’t accomplish something as simple as sitting, then instantly regretted it. The morning air that had rushed into the cabin upon Daisy’s departure was bitterly cold. He gritted his teeth and stubbornly did not immediately pull the blanket back over him. He was determined to get out of the bed. 

Through sheer force of will, Dean finally maneuvered himself into a sitting position, but a sudden wave of nausea forced him to take stock of his physical state. His head throbbed, and Dean recognized the signs of the lack of sleep and food. Generally, he felt only sore and bruised. His leg, though—his leg burned. 

Dean tried to ignore it. He slid his uninjured leg off the bed, hoping that his body would remember how to stand and walk on its own without making him think about every painful moment. No such luck. He levered himself up to a standing position, holding on to the upper bunk for balance. So far, so good. When he tried to shift his weight to his injured leg, he found himself sitting back on the lower bunk. 

Dean gritted his teeth and poked at the tear in his jeans until he could see the injury. The gauze bandage that covered the wound was crusted with dried blood. He probed at it cautiously, wondering if he dared try to remove it. The sudden stab of pain that shot through his leg made up his mind. He would have to wait for Daisy to return. With an irritated growl, Dean lowered himself back onto the bed, tugged the blanket over him, and let his eyes close.  
***

Sam sagged forward, only held upright by virtue of his wrists cuffed behind the chair. His chin rested on his chest, dripping blood onto his shirt. His left eye was swollen and bruised, and it hurt when he breathed deeply. The Alpha finally stepped back, shaking out his hand after yet another round of whack-a-Winchester. Sam coughed. 

“All this bravery, Sam? It’s for nothing. You think you’re making a difference, but you’re not. The end result will still be the same, and you and your brother will die. But how much pain there is between then and now is up to you.”

Sam, hovering between consciousness and blessed unconsciousness, didn’t have the strength to respond. The Alpha snapped his fingers and beckoned to someone out of Sam’s view. Footsteps approached and retreated. Sam closed his eyes wearily.

“I think you need some persuasion, Sam Winchester.” The Alpha grabbed a fistful of his captive’s hair and yanked his head back, forcing Sam to stare up at him. He held a syringe in front of Sam’s face, one drop of amber-colored liquid sprouting at the tip of the needle. “Tell me where your brother is.”

Scraping together the last of his energy, Sam looked the Alpha dead in the eye and whispered, “Screw you.”

The needle plunged into his jugular vein, and a curious tingling sensation swept through Sam’s body. The world seemed to grow fuzzy around him, and he felt as if he were floating. 

A voice, harsh and menacing, reached through the haze surrounding him. “Where is Dean?”

Sam inhaled, held the breath, then let it out slowly. His head tipped forward, but he was caught by rough hands. “Scroo….ooo,” he breathed.

“You think we can’t find him? We can, I promise you that. Perhaps your friend is still poking around the next. We’ll just ask her, and perhaps she’ll be more forthcoming.”

“Daisy, no,” Sam slurred, his voice barely a whisper. 

“Daisy?” A slow grin spread across the Alpha’s face. “Your friend’s name is Daisy. I think we need to go looking for this...Daisy.”

Horror crept into Sam’s gut as he slowly realized that he had given them a new piece of information, and that the information had the potential to make his friend very, very dead. He moaned softly as darkness slid around him, pulling him into a dreamless sleep.  
***

The sun was peeking over the mountains by the time Daisy found her way back to the storage facility. She crept toward the edge of the woods cautiously, her shotgun ready in her hands. The grounds seemed quiet as she circled around to where her car sat, useless with four slashed tires. 

Scanning the area, Daisy dug her keys out of her pocket and approached the Ford Taurus. She opened the trunk and rummaged through the contents. Her emergency bags were stuffed in the back, filled with ammunition, food, first aid supplies, and survival gear. She grabbed the two duffel bags and toted them back to the forest, hiding them under some bushes, then returned to the car to see what else could be of use. 

She had added two silver blades to her belt and additional silver bullets to her satchel and just closed the trunk, when she heard the soft whisper of claws being unsheathed. Daisy froze. 

“Just like the Winchester said,” a high, tinny voice cackled. “Daisy, back again.”

Daisy’s mind instantly filled with horrible visions of Dean, helpless and injured, being captured and tortured by werewolves.

The second voice was a low growl, a sharp counterpoint to the first. “Maybe you’ll tell us where we can find Dean Winchester, then.”

Not Dean. Sam. That was no less horrifying. Daisy could only imagine what he had endured, and found that she didn’t want to. 

She gritted her teeth and slowly turned around. Two werewolves, identifiable by their claws and fangs, stood less than a yard away. One male and the other female, both held guns aimed directly at her head. 

“Now, now, Daisy. Let’s have no fuss.” The male werewolf kept her covered with his pistol, while the female relieved her of her satchel, shotgun, and knives. 

“So much silver,” the female said with mock sadness. “So unfriendly.”

Daisy bit back a response that would get her in more trouble than she already was. She watched as her weapons disappeared inside the satchel, which was then slung across the male’s shoulders. “What do you want?” she finally asked. 

“We want very much to kill you, Hunter,” the female snarled, “but the Alpha says he wants Dean Winchester more. So you’ll stay alive until we find him. And if you are cooperative and don’t pitch any fits, we’ll make sure your death is far less painful than the Winchesters’ are.”

Daisy’s eyes narrowed as the werewolf grabbed her shoulder and propelled her forward towards the building. She was in trouble.

“So, dearie. Where is he?”

“Dean’s dead,” she said flatly. “One of your filthy packmates stabbed him last night. He bled out before I could get to him.”

The sharp shove between her shoulder blades sent her stumbling forward on the steps. Her foot caught the bottom step, and she fell forward, skinning her shins and hands on the concrete. 

“Dean didn’t die here,” the male said with disapproval. “We would have smelled that.” He reached down and caught a handful of Daisy’s jacket to yank her to her feet. “Don’t lie again.”

“Then don’t ask me stupid questions,” Daisy retorted. “You know that I won’t tell you anything.”

That earned her a resounding blow upside the head. She staggered as the world reeled around her. Both werewolves laughed, and they resumed their forced march into the building. 

They brought Daisy to an office and cuffed her to a chair. One of them stood next to her, while the male slung the satchel to the floor, sat down heavily at the desk, and picked up the phone. He dialed and waited a moment. 

“Yes, sir.”

Pause. “We did, sir. She was right outside, waiting like a helpless lamb.” He leered in Daisy’s direction, who ignore him. 

Pause. “No, sir. Do you want us to ask again? Maybe provide some….encouragement?”

Pause. “Yes, sir. We’ll meet you out front.” He hung up the phone and looked over at Daisy. 

“The Alpha is coming,” he informed her gleefully. “And he’s bringing Sam. If you won’t talk, we’ll torture you until he does.” He stood and jerked his head at his companion. She checked Daisy’s restraints one more time, then they both left the room. 

Daisy sat still for a long moment, listening and thinking. Sam was on his way. Sam was coming back within reach. Her heart lifted with that glimmer of hope. When she no longer heard the fading footsteps of the werewolves, she worked free the bobby pin hidden in her waistband.

Daisy made short work of the cuffs, grabbed her satchel, then eased the door open. The silence was absolute. She slipped out the doorway and down the hall towards the exit. 

Daisy pressed the satchel close to her side to keep it from bumping into the wall. She felt the familiar shape of her flower-emblazoned shotgun and was immediately comforted by it. She headed towards the back exit, where her car was still parked, working from the assumption that the werewolves would be meeting their alpha at the front of the complex. 

There was no sign of anyone, monster or otherwise, as she made her way through the corridors. She remained cautious, certain that the two werewolves that had captured her were not the only two around. After two wrong turns, she finally reached the back of the building and quietly exited. 

With even more care, she crossed the twenty feet to her car, using it as cover to scout the area. There were nearly fifty yards of open ground between her and the tree line, and she had to make sure she wouldn’t be spotted before she made a break for it. After six excruciating minutes of waiting and watching, she decided that it was now or never. 

Daisy set the bushes with the precious duffel bags as her target, and sprinted across the parking lot, vaulting the crumbling, decayed security wall, and darting into the trees. She had just grabbed the straps of the duffel bags when she heard shouts, then a roar of anger. Someone had discovered her absence. 

Daisy slung the bags over her shoulder and took off at a dead run, dodging rocks and ducking low-hanging branches. The uneven terrain kept her from covering ground as efficiently as she wanted. Her first instinct was to head straight for Dean, but she knew that was a terrible idea. The werewolves would be on her trail by now, and she couldn’t lead them to the cabin. She had to lose them first. 

The sound of branches cracking in the distance sent her heart pounding in her throat, and she ran for the stream, heading downwind of the nest. The log was still in place, and she edged across it, then took several precious moments to dislodge the tree and send it toppling into the stream. Then she headed in the opposite direction of the cabin and Dean. 

After almost an hour, Daisy was breathing heavily. Her pace had slowed, and the duffel bags grew heavier with every step. She stopped whenever she could to catch her breath and to brush away as many tracks as she could. There were no sounds of pursuit, but Daisy wasn’t about to take any chances. The sun was high overhead when she emerged from the forest next to a highway. 

It was clearly well-traveled, judging by the upkeep, but there was little traffic. Daisy watched for oncoming vehicles, then sprinted across the road. Her arms and legs ached, and the sun beat down despite the autumn chill in the air. She paused long enough to extract a bottle of water from one of the bags, then resumed trudging along the far side of the highway from the woods. 

A trucker passing by stopped and gave Daisy a ride two miles up the road. Two glorious miles closer to Dean that she would not have to walk. She thanked him profusely when she climbed out and wished him well on his trip. Hoping and praying that the circuitous route, the overwhelming scents of the highway, and the short ride in a truck would thoroughly confuse any pursuers, Daisy headed straight for where she figured the cabin would be.

It was well past noon when she stumbled into the clearing, her limbs heavy with fatigue. The cabin was undisturbed, much to her relief. She opened the door and stepped inside, eyes searching desperately for Dean. Only when she saw that he still lay on the bunk, staring at her with concern, did she drop the bags and collapse to the floor.  
***

Sam was brought to instant wakefulness by a resounding slap across his face. He swayed in the chair, trying to ride out the wave of pain and nausea the blow had brought with it. When he finally regained his balance, he looked up at the werewolf who stood in front of him, hands curled into tight fists.

“Time to go, Sam Winchester,” he growled. He grabbed Sam’s shirt and yanked him out of the chair, not caring if his captive was able to walk or not. He half-dragged, half-pulled Sam towards the door. 

“Where—” Sam tried to form the question, but words wouldn’t come. His mouth was paper-dry, and he couldn’t recall the last time he had had water. 

There werewolf ignored him, hauling him outside. The contrast between the gloomy interior and the bright sunshine made Sam hiss with pain and squeeze his eyes shut. He was herded to the same squad car that had brought him to the farmhouse and shoved into the backseat. 

By the time Sam had managed to sit up straight, the car was already in motion, turning onto the highway. He saw in the rearview mirror that two other cars followed them out of the driveway and down the road. Sam, still squinting from the sunlight, couldn’t make out their occupants. In fact, the effort of looking the mirror caused a fresh wave of nausea to surge through him, and he fought to keep his stomach from rebelling. 

He shut his eyes against the light, and found that the lack of vision only made him more aware of a persistent ringing in his ears. He winced and tried to press one ear against the back of the seat, wanting the sound to stop. The motion did nothing to stop the ringing, but did send the pain level of his headache up a notch or two. The motion of the car made him dizzy, and Sam had to concede that he was utterly miserable. 

One distant corner of his mind, the corner that kept up the mantra of screw you, continued to churn out rational thoughts. Most of them faded into nonsense before they reached his consciousness, but it was that corner that observed dispassionately that he had a concussion, likely the result of the one-sided boxing sessions he had had with the alpha. Sam made an effort to keep his groans to exhales that were nearly inaudible.

They traveled south, though not for long. It was scarcely fifteen minutes before the car pulled to a stop. Sam reluctantly opened his eyes and saw that they had returned to the storage facility. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach, and he hoped desperately that Dean and Daisy were safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 Prompts: Hypothermia, electrocution, “Stay”, torture, manhandling, bedridden, drugged, hostage, exhaustion, concussion


	3. Days 21-31

“Daisy!”

Daisy’s eyes felt like they were glued shut, and her body felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. She wanted nothing more than to sleep. Everything ached: her shoulders, her back, her arms, her feet. 

“Daisy!” 

The voice speaking her name was more urgent now, and she tried to pry her eyes open. When she finally was able to focus, she saw Dean’s very worried face peering into hers. 

“Daisy, what happened?” Dean demanded. 

“So tired,” she mumbled, and shut her eyes again. 

Dean shook her by the arm insistently. “Daisy. Wake up.”

Finally accepting that Dean needed answers more than she needed to fall asleep at that moment, Daisy opened her eyes again. She braced her hands on the floor and pushed herself into a sitting position. Dean sat next to her, his injured leg stretched out in front of him. 

“Got caught by some werewolves,” she said around a yawn. “Managed to slip away with the supplies when their backs were turned.” Then she remembered the news that Dean would certainly want to hear. “They’re bringing Sam back to the storage facility!”

Dean’s head snapped upright, his eyes searching for a lie in Daisy’s face. “What?”

“They wanted to know where you were. Sounds like you pissed somebody off but good. Their plan was to bring Sam back and get one of us to talk. He could even be there by now.”

“Then what are we waiting for,” Dean growled, trying to climb to his feet. His leg buckled, and he sat down again, hard. 

“Dean!” Daisy’s voice was tight with worry. “You’re not going anywhere until we get you patched up.” To her utter amazement, he didn’t argue. 

Ignoring the fatigue that had seeped into her bones, Daisy helped Dean to a chair by the fireplace. She grabbed the duffel bag that had the first aid supplies and dragged it over next to his chair. Between the two of them, they managed to get the wound cleaned, stitched, and dressed. It was showing signs of infection already, and Daisy took extra care when cleaning it. She handed Dean painkillers and a bottle of water. He washed them down and sank back into the chair with a long, heavy exhale.

“Rest, Dean,” she ordered. “You’re no good to Sam if you collapse halfway there.”

“You’re not leaving without me,” he said fiercely. 

“One hour,” Daisy promised. “Rest for one hour, and we’ll go together.”

Dean closed his eyes in silent agreement. Daisy curled up in the adjacent armchair, let her head lean against the soft cushions, and fell asleep immediately.  
***

An hour later, Dean and Daisy were both on their feet again, though moving stiffly. Daisy pulled every silver weapon she had from the satchel and the duffel bags. She loved her shotgun with silver dust, her pistol with silver bullets, and handed the ammunition over to Dean so he could do the same. She tucked a silver knife into her belt and another into an ankle sheath. When they had all the silver they could carry, they stored the gear under the bunks, then set off into the woods. 

It was coming on twilight as they hiked through the forest in the direction of the werewolf hideout. The wind had picked up and was no longer the playful breeze it had been before. Daisy pulled her jacket tightly around her and glanced up at the sky. It was black with thunderclouds. She caught Dean’s eye and nodded upwards. They quickened their pace. Now that the painkillers had taken effect, Dean was moving more easily. 

They had not yet reached the stream when the first rumble of thunder echoed off the mountainside. Large raindrops began to fall, first slowly, splattering on the forest floor and disturbing the leaves. Then they fell faster and faster, turning into a downpour that drenched Dean and Daisy within minutes. The wind howled through the trees, turning the droplets into stinging projectiles that drove into the skin on their arms and faces. 

There was nowhere to seek shelter and going back wasn’t an option. The pair of hunters pressed on, navigating mud puddles and wiping away the water that streamed down their faces. Lightning split the sky, turning the dim forest bright as daylight, then fading again. Three seconds later, a thunderclap cracked overhead, making both of them jump. 

They finally reached the stream, both now wet and miserable. The log they had crossed the night before was no longer an option, since Daisy had dislodged it to discourage her pursuers. Neither was wading the stream possible. Even though they were both so wet that it wouldn’t have made a difference, the stream was swollen and rushing faster with the downpour. They walked on in miserable silence, looking for another place to cross. 

Eventually, they came to a bend in the stream. It flowed around and through a series of large rocks and boulders. Neither of them relished the thought of scrambling across wet rocks over a small river, but there was no guarantee of a better place to cross, and time was against them. Going slowly, they made their way across the water, landing safely on the other side. 

The rain had not let up, nor had the wind, when they reached the forest’s edge and the storage complex.  
***

Sam had been dragged out of the squad car and through the rain into the complex. He looked around furtively for any sign of his brother and their friend, but saw none. Two werewolves took him to a small storage unit, cuffed him to a shelving rack, and locked him inside. 

Sam waited for his eyes to adjust again. The small gap between the door and the frame let slivers of light into the makeshift cell. It was enough to make out some of the contents of the room. The shelves nearest him held small plastic boxes, while there were larger boxes of cardboard against the far wall. He opened up the plastic boxes one by one to examine their contents and was rewarded. The third box he opened contained a variety of slender wires.

Sam quickly released himself from the handcuffs and went to examine the door. There was no give to it, and Sam didn’t think it would be wise to dislocate his shoulder in a futile effort to break free. Instead, he resumed his search of the room, hoping to find something to use as a weapon. When they returned for him, he would give them a fight they wouldn’t be expecting.

The large cardboard boxes held mostly clothing, several decades out of fashion. In the bottom of the last box, however, he found an old, heavy, metal candlestick. He hefted it in his right hand, figuring it weighed a couple pounds at least. Enough to do some damage if he had room to swing it. 

Just then, he heard motion beyond the door in the hallway. Doors were opening and shutting. He couldn’t hear voices, but he did hear two pairs of footsteps. The two werewolves who had tossed him inside the small room were returning. Heart pounding, Sam gripped the candlestick tightly and moved to stand in the small space next to the doorway, as far from the shelves as he could get. He figured it would take them a split second to realize he was no longer cuffed there, and he needed every advantage he could get. 

He could hear someone fumbling with the lock, then the retractable door slowly rose. A man, backlit by the bright lights from the hallway, took a step into the room. Sam raised the candlestick and brought it crashing down onto the man’s head. At the last possible moment, the man jerked to the side so that the metal clipped his shoulder instead of bashing in his skull. The force still propelled him into the wall, and he crumpled to the floor with a groan. 

A second figure gasped and moved closer. Sam squinted against the bright lights, trying to get a fix on his new target. There was just one more werewolf between him and freedom. He brought the candlestick up, ready to swing.

“Sam!”

He froze, confused. He knew that voice. 

“Sam, put the weapon down. It’s us!” she whispered fiercely. 

Sam rubbed at his eyes with his free hand and looked again at the figure standing in the doorway, empty hands raised. Horrified recognition filled him, and his gaze snapped to the man on the floor. Dean, grumbling under his breath and rubbing his shoulder, struggled back to his feet. Daisy helped to steady him, then turned back to Sam.

“You need to work on your aim there, Sasquatch,” Dean said with a groan, rubbing his shoulder. “If I’d have been a werewolf, you would be in shreds right now.” 

Daisy ignored him and rested a hand on Sam’s arm. “Are you okay?” 

He nodded, trying to hid the wince the motion caused. His head still ached. “Dean, you killed their alpha’s father or grandfather or something, and they want your blood.”

“A monster wants to kill us? What else is new.” Dean handed a pistol loaded with silver bullets to his brother. “Just make sure you kill them first, okay?”

The three hunters crept back down the hall, heading for the exit and trying to avoid werewolves. Luck was not on their side. They had reached the first intersection when they ran straight into a pair of the monsters.

Daisy had been acting as rear guard and almost collided with the brothers as they skidded to a halt. Dean shoved Sam off the the side and raised his gun, firing before it was level. One bullet caught the nearest werewolf in the leg, the next in its chest. The second werewolf threw himself towards Dean. Daisy, who had spun around and dropped to one knee to get out of any crossfire, aimed and shot the werewolf square in the heart. It collapsed on top of its dead companion. 

Breathing heavily, but trying to make no other sound, the small group continued through the corridors, guns out and ready. They had finally reached the exit, and Daisy had her hand on the door when a sharp bark of laughter echoed through the hallway.

“Leaving so soon?” the Alpha asked. 

All three hunters turned to face their enemy. The Alpha stood in the hallway with three younger werewolves at his back, bristling with claws and fangs. 

“Really, I must insist you stay.” The Alpha snapped his fingers, and two of the werewolves rushed the hunters. Gunfire exploded, the sound ricocheting off the walls to a resounding crescendo before fading away. The two werewolves dropped, slain by silver. 

“You think there aren’t more of us, Winchesters? I can do this all day,” the Alpha snarled. “There are a dozen outside and a dozen more on their way here right now.”

Dean took a step forward. “You want me? You got me. Just let them go.” He jerked his head towards Sam and Daisy. 

“Dean, no!” Sam hissed, but his brother ignored him. 

The Alpha appeared to be considering the offer. “Are you sure about that, Dean Winchester? Wouldn’t you rather go out in a blaze of glory?”

Daisy missed Dean’s reply. She had nudged the door open a crack, just enough to look around outside. She saw no movement, no sign of the twelve sentinels that the Alpha had boasted. She pushed the door open a little wider and tugged at Sam’s sleeve. 

“Why should I let them go when I could kill you all here and now?”

“Just try it,” Dean growled, raising his pistol. 

“Go!” Daisy shouted, pushing Sam outside. She grabbed Dean’s arm and pulled with all her might, yanking him out the door with her. The moment they cleared the doorway, she slammed the door in the Alpha’s face, grabbing a piece of rebar to brace the door shut. 

Dean, Sam, and Daisy raced for the tree line as if the werewolves were at their heels. They vaulted the crumbling wall and scattered, trying to confuse the werewolves. Fortunately, the rain had stopped, but it had left slippery mud puddles behind. They could hear sounds of pursuit coming from behind them, but didn’t dare stop to look. Staying within sight of each other, the small group headed for the stream. Sam, who had not yet been to the cabin, followed a few paces behind. 

A snarl that was too close for comfort caught Daisy’s attention, and she whirled around, her shotgun at the ready. She unloaded a spray of silver into the fully transformed werewolf that leapt towards Sam, claws outstretched. The wolf dropped. Now the hunters turned, putting the stream at their backs, and faced the remaining three wolves who stalked them ten yards further back. 

Dean sighted down his gun, aiming at the lead werewolf. It was too much to hope it was the alpha, but it was definitely the leader of the tracking pack. The bullet caught the wolf squarely between the eyes. Dean allowed a momentary smile of grim satisfaction before moving to the next target. That was harder than the first, since Sam had moved into his line of fire. 

A glance told Dean that Daisy was handling her werewolf, moving among the trees to stay out of easy range and to get a clear shot. Sam, on the other hand, wasn’t having as much luck. His movements were slower than usual, and he seemed to be having a hard time lining up his shot, as if his vision were bothering him. Dean took a step to the side, trying to get a clear view.

A heavy weight plowed into him like a freight train, buckling his weakened leg and sending him tumbling into the stream. The freezing water drove the air from his lungs, and he inhaled mouthful before breaking the surface. The werewolf that had tackled him snapped at his throat. Dean stumbled back, slipping below the water again. His attacker was on him, trying to claw, bite, and push him under all at the same time.

Dean felt a claw drag along his bicep, opening skin and drawing blood that tinged the water around him pink. He struggled to regain his footing, coughing up water while trying to face the werewolf. His hand closed around the hilt of his silver knife, and he drew it. The werewolf lunged at him again, and he drove the knife deep into its rib cage. The monster crashed onto him, its dead weight pushing Dean beneath the frigid waters.

Dean fought to keep the panic at bay as he half-pushed, half-rolled the beast off of him. He broke the surface, gasping and coughing as his lungs expelled water. He stumbled out of the stream and fell to his knees on the far bank. He recoiled when he felt a hand on his shoulder, then made himself relax when he saw it was Daisy.

“Dean! Are you okay?”

He wasn’t anywhere near okay. He reached out a hand to grab onto his friend, his vision beginning to darken. Daisy gasped, seeing the telltale black tendrils curling from the gash on his arm. Immediately, she dug in her satchel and pulled out a vial of holy water, upending it over the cut. It fizzed and bubbled, then the black faded and Dean felt as if a vise had been loosened. 

“The other werewolves?” he asked hoarsely, between coughing fit. 

“You killed two, Sam and I got one each,” she assured him. Sam crouched next to them. “But there will be more on the way. We need to keep moving. Can you stand?” 

Dean nodded and clambered to his feet, grabbing onto a nearby tree for support. Daisy started to close her satchel, then looked at Sam.

“Did you get scratched? Bitten?” she demanded. 

He shook his head. “I got away clean,” he reported. “Where are we going?”  
***

Daisy led the way to the cabin as Dean leaned heavily on Sam. Not only was he limping, he continued to cough. All three kept a close watch on their back trail and the woods around them, expecting werewolves behind every bush. When they were about two hundred yards from the cabin, Daisy noticed that their pace had slowed significantly. She turned. 

Dean’s face was creased with pain, but Sam was the one who drew her horrified gasp. His skin was gray, and he was barely keeping them both upright. Black strands crept out from his collar and were starting to reach up his neck. 

“Sam!” She hurried to his side, reaching for the container of holy water. 

He came to an awkward halt, Dean balancing precariously on his uninjured leg. Daisy reached out and tugged at Sam’s collar, trying to see where the wound was. There was no cut or scratch that she could see, but she poured the water over his neck anyway. The black tendrils retreated, but there was no fizzing or bubbling. Daisy tried to push the fear away, instead focusing on their destination. The cabin was just beyond the trees ahead. 

Between the three of them, they limped, stumbled, and staggered into the clearing. Daisy hurried them inside, anxious to get out of the open and into the relative safety of the cabin. Dean collapsed into a chair as Daisy led Sam over to a bunk and sat him down. His skin was burning, and the black streaks were crawling up his neck again. 

Panicking, Daisy grabbed at the hem of his shirt and dragged it up over his head. Sam swayed, trying to brace himself with his hands. Daisy felt her heart sink. The tendrils at his throat met below his collarbone, twining together and sliding down his chest until they became a twisted mass of black vines around his abdomen, though she still could not see any wound.

Daisy gripped Sam’s shoulders and moved him so that she could see his back. The same writhing mass of ebony greeted her, stretching towards Sam’s neck. Daisy ran to the duffel bags and grabbed all the holy water in them. Returning, she poured bottle after bottle over Sam’s skin, soaking his clothes and the bunk. The tendrils recoiled, then retreated, shrinking from the thick ropes to slender black threads that shriveled until they disappeared. 

Daisy expelled a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding. The tension in her body melted away, and she looked into Sam’s eyes. And frowned. Something was wrong.

“Sam?”

He stared blankly at her, without a glimmer of response or recognition. 

“Sam!” She reached out to touch his shoulder, feeling the heat radiating from him before she even made contact. 

Instantly, Sam’s hand darted out and wrapped around her wrist like a steel band, twisting her arm out to the side. She gasped in pain. “Sam!”

Sam didn’t answer, still applying the relentless pressure. She struggled, trying to break free. Then his other hand shot out and gripped her by the throat. Sam seemed to stare past her, as if he didn’t see her at all. Desperately, Daisy pushed at his arm with her free hand, trying to relieve the pressure on her trachea. Her vision was starting to blur around the edges when Dean appeared, bringing his fist crashing into Sam’s jaw. 

The younger Winchester’s grip relaxed, and he collapsed to the bunk, out cold. 

Daisy hugged her arm tightly against her and fought to breathe normally. When she had regained her composure, she looked over at Dean. He was leaning against he bunk, staring down at his brother. Daisy followed his gaze. Sam’s eyes were closed. She touched his hand and flinched. The heat pouring from his skin was intense.

Sam began to stir, and Daisy took a quick step back. Dean cleared his throat and said gruffly, “Get something to tie him up.” 

Daisy nodded reluctantly and found two sets of handcuffs in her bag. Both had ancient runes carved into the metal chains, but that hardly mattered in the circumstances. She moved Sam’s arms so that his hands rested on either side of his head. Heart pounding, she placed a metal cuff around each of Sam’s wrists and attached it to the frame of the bunk. 

Daisy tried to stifle her sigh of relief when Sam was secured. Her throat and wrist still throbbed from where he had grabbed her. Her relief was short-lived when she noticed a thin line of black curling around his bicep. 

Perplexed, Daisy dropped to her knees beside the bed and examined Sam’s arm thoroughly. There were no scratches, scrapes, or bite marks to be seen. The tendrils seemed to be growing out of his pores, rather than from any wound. Fear pushed its way back into her mind as she looked up at Dean and saw the same terror reflected in his eyes.

“What the hell?” Dean said shakily. “I thought that black stuff only came from werewolf scratches.”

Daisy touched the tendrils that simultaneously spread up and down Sam’s arm. They writhed and wrapped around each other beneath her fingers. Numbly, she shook her head. 

“I don’t know,” she whispered. She reached down and pressed a finger into a puddle of holy water that had formed on the floor, then let a single drop roll from her fingertip onto the mass of tendrils.

They reacted like a living creature, recoiling and pulling away from the water, leaving a small, damp, clear area of skin. Daisy wiped the water away, and the tendrils crept back, intertwining with each other. She shook her head again. 

“I don’t understand,” she said, pushing herself to her feet, “but we have to keep holy water on him. With his body temperature this high, there’s a good chance that this could kill him.”

Dean pressed his lips together grimly. “Then we need more holy water. I’ll get started.”

Daisy found some towels and wet them with the remainder of the holy water she had brought while Dean prepared more. She draped the towels over Sam’s exposed skin, hoping the constant contact with the water would keep whatever poison infected him at bay. Sam mumbled something incoherent, then was quiet. 

“Gah!” Dean’s cry of pain was followed by a clatter and the sound of water splashing on the counter. 

Daisy spun and saw Dean, bent at the waist, one forearm braced on the counter, his other hand pressed against his side. The basin of water he had tried to lift had sloshed part of its contents onto the countertop. She hurried over to him, looking for signs of injury. 

Dean swore as she approached, not even trying to straighten. Daisy rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. This close, she could see that his face was tightly creased with pain, pain that intensified every time he took a shallow breath. 

“Hurts,” he gasped, pounding his fist twice on the counter. 

“What hurts?”

He grimaced and tried to stand up, indicating his ribs. Daisy ran her hands gently over his chest, smoothing the fabric of his shirt beneath her fingers, probing his ribs. When she found a slight give, Dean howled and jerked away, panting shallowly. 

“What’d you push on it for?” he snapped angrily, wrapping his arms around himself like a shield. 

Daisy brushed his anger aside. “It’s broken,” she said with calm sympathy. “Let me get you some painkillers.”

Dean leaned back against the counter, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. Daisy found her first aid kit and held out a bottle of pain medication towards Dean. 

“You can take two of these now, and more in four hours.”

Dean visibly braced himself and took a step forward. His injured leg buckled, and Dean caught himself just before he collapsed to the floor. 

“Dean!” Daisy shot to her feet and rushed over, grabbing hold of his arm. He cried out again, and she realized she was on the side with the broken rib. Apologizing, she switched to his other side and helped him up. 

Dean took one step, and his leg gave out completely. Daisy suddenly found herself taking all of his weight as he relied completely on his arm around her shoulder to remain upright. 

“Dean?” she asked, more sharply than she had intended. 

“I can’t—my leg,” he grimaced. “I can’t walk.”

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “I’ve got you.”

Daisy assisted him in hopping over to a chair. As soon as he sat, groaning from the strain on his ribs, she carefully examined his leg, pushing aside cloth and bandage. The skin around the cut was swollen and an angry red, but thankfully there was no sign of black tendrils. She sat back on her heels and looked up at Dean.

“This is going to hurt,” she warned. 

“Just do it,” he growled. 

Daisy nodded and grabbed the duffel bag while Dean freed his leg from the denim. She pulled out medicines, bandages, and cleansers, then fetched water from the kitchen. Daisy winced with sympathy when she saw the grit clinging to the wound. Despite having been covered with a bandage, Dirt had worked its way into the cut. 

Knowing that speed was kinder than gentleness in that moment, Daisy briskly cleaned the dirt from the cut and surrounding skin. Blood seeped from the depths of the cut, and she sponged it away. She could feel Dean’s muscles bunch tightly beneath her touch and resisted the urge to apologize. That was time and mental energy she couldn’t spare right now. 

When the wound was finally clean, she applied antibacterial medication, then pulled the skin together with a pair of butterfly closures. She wrapped gauze firmly around his thigh and secured it with medical tape. She looked up at Dean as she finished, seeing the strain on his face and in the sweat glistening on his forehead. He had remained silent throughout the procedure. 

Daisy offered him a half-smile, then the painkillers he had not yet taken. He gulped them down greedily as Daisy cleaned up her supplies. After she was done, she held out her hand to Dean. He looked up at her, confused. 

“You need sleep,” she said, her tone daring him to argue. “Let’s get you to the bunk.”

To her surprise, Dean did not protest. He gripped the outstretched hand and let her pull him to his feet. Leaning heavily on her, Dean hobbled to an empty bunk and collapsed. He was asleep moments after his head hit the pillow. 

Daisy stowed her gear, checked the locks, then built up the fire. The evening was cold, and Daisy hoped that the werewolves were so used to hunters using the cabin that they wouldn’t even notice the smoke from the chimney. Just in case, she kept her array of silver weapons close to hand as she alternated between watching the fire, checking on Dean, and worrying about Sam.  
***

Dawn crept silently into the cabin, bringing Daisy to gradual wakefulness. She had dozed on and off through the night, never sleeping deeply. With the threat of discovery still hovering around them, she woke at every loud crackle of the fire. Still, some sleep was better than none. She stretched, yawned, and went to check on Sam. 

He had moved about in the night, and the towel had partially slipped from his chest. Where the skin was exposed, black tendrils curved and slid around the cloth that was still damp from holy water. Daisy rested the back of her hand on his forehead and winced. He continued to radiate heat like an oven. 

She picked up another towel and took it over to the kitchen area where more holy water waited in a basin. She soaked the towel, then wrung it out so that it was not dripping. Sam was starting to stir when she returned to his side and switched out towels. 

He looked up at her, confusion plain on his face. “Where am I?”

She laid the fresh towel over his torso and watched the tendrils shrink to nothing. Despite that, there was no change in his skin temperature. “We’re in a hunter’s lodge,” she told him. “It’s just after dawn.”

He let his eyes shut for a moment, then opened them again and tugged against the handcuffs. “What happened? Where’s Dean?”

“Dean’s resting,” she said. “He has a broken rib and stab wound. You’re running a high fever. What do you remember?”

He frowned, concentrating. “I remember coming here. And I remember...I remember a werewolf coming in. I fought it off, choked it, but then it hit me. That’s...that’s all.” He craned his neck to peer around the cabin. “What happened to it? Did you kill it?”

Daisy offered a sad smile. “There was no werewolf here, Sam. Just Dean and me.”

“Just—” Daisy saw comprehension spread across his face, followed by horror as he looked up at the handcuffs, then back to her and the faint bruises around her neck. “Daisy, I—”

“No apologies, Sam,” she said softly smoothing his hair back. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Sam looked miserable and unconvinced, but the towels caught his attention next. Daisy followed his gaze and answered before he could ask. 

“You weren’t cut or bitten by a werewolf,” she said, “but the same type of black streaks that spring from those wounds cover your chest when you’re not in contact with holy water. We’re still trying to figure out why, and I don’t want to find out what happens if they spread unchecked.” 

She let Sam digest that information while she dug through her duffel bag for the key to the cuffs. Sam seemed perfectly lucid, and his arms had to be hurting from so long in one position. She returned and wordlessly removed both sets of handcuffs from his wrists. Sam hissed as he moved his arms down to his sides, then gazed up at the underside of the upper bunk for a long moment, as if the effort alone had exhausted him. 

He continued to stare, so long that Daisy frowned. “Sam?”

There was no response. She shook his arm. “Sam!”

Sam continued to stare blankly up towards the ceiling, making no sign that he heard her. 

“Sam!” Daisy was frantic as she watched his muscles begin to tighten and release, and still he did not stir. 

Suddenly, Sam’s body spasmed, his muscles cording tightly under his skin and arching his back off the mattress. His muscles relaxed, then immediately contracted, stiffening his entire frame. His arms and legs jerked rhythmically. 

“Dean!” she yelled, watching as the convulsions wracked Sam’s body for a double handful of seconds. Then he went still, completely motionless. 

Dean rolled out of bed with a grunt and limped over to them. “Daisy, what’s wrong?”

“Sam had a seizure. He won’t wake up.” Daisy slapped Sam’s face lightly, then a little harder. There was no response. 

“That black stuff?”

Daisy nodded wordlessly, moving aside the towel. Instantly, black tendrils swarmed the open area, slipping behind his neck and gliding over his shoulder. She replaced it immediately. “They’re moving faster.” 

“What do we do?”

Daisy shook her head and whispered, “I don’t know.” 

They stared at Sam helplessly for a moment, then Dean snapped his fingers. “Do you have a rosary in your bag?”

“I do, but—”

Dean didn’t let her finish. “Keep trying to wake him up.” Moving carefully, he retrieved the rosary, then made his way across the cabin towards the small bathroom. 

“Come on, Sam,” Daisy muttered, patting his head, chafing his hands, and shaking him gently. “Wake up. Wake up.” She was rewarded with a brief fluttering of his eyelids, but nothing more. 

“Can you move him?” Dean called, and she heard the sound of running water. 

“I’ll try,” she replied. She gripped Sam’s wrists and tugged him into a sitting position, moving the wet towel around his shoulders. He slumped forward as Daisy shifted his legs off the bed and rotated him so he was facing her. Bracing his feet with her own, she pulled him up, then twisted so that he draped over her like a backpack. She shifted his arms until they fell over her shoulders, then held on tightly. Bending forward slightly, she took a step, then another, and then another until she had crossed the open space between the bunks and the bathroom. 

Dean helped as much as he could when she lowered Sam to the floor, but he was severely limited by his injured leg and his broken rib. Dean had the shower going, warm water spraying the far wall. There was no tub, just a shallow dip in the floor so the water could run off into a drain. Daisy propped Sam against the wall beneath the spray and looked at Dean questioningly. 

“I put the rosary in the shower head,” he said, pointing.

Daisy looked down at Sam. The black tendrils, which had swiftly covered his chest, sides, and back when the towel had been removed, were fading to nothing beneath the shower of holy water. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw his eyes flutter open. 

“But we can’t leave him here forever,” she said, worried. “Hang on.” 

Daisy stepped back into the kitchen and rummaged around for a mug, then filled it from the basin of holy water. She returned with it, kneeling next to Sam and holding it to his lips. 

“Drink this,” she urged. 

With water running down his face in rivulets and soaking his jeans, Sam blinked at her without comprehension until she tipped the mug up and let the liquid pool at Sam’s lips. He opened his mouth and took a long drink while Daisy held her breath. 

Sam pulled away, pain contorting his face as he was seized by a coughing fit, spewing black water across the floor. Dean recoiled, and Daisy watched it swirl, fizz, and spiral towards the drain. 

Sam leaned back against the wall weakly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and closing his eyes. Dean turned off the water, and Daisy passed Sam a towel. He rubbed at his face, then dropped the towel in his lap, exhausted and breathing heavily. Daisy took over, wiping the water from his neck, arms, and torso, then toweling off his hair. As she touched his skin, she noted that his body temp was falling towards normal. 

Sam submitted passively, making no sound or protest, as Daisy moved him this way and that. His head dropped heavily against her shoulder when she reached across to dry his left arm, and Daisy almost lost her balance. Dean helped as much as he could, and soon Sam was sleeping in his bunk, wrapped in a blanket while his clothes dried by the fire. 

Daisy sank into a chair and yawned. It was still early morning, and she had had little sleep the past two nights. She ached from her long trek the day before, and her stomach had given up on the hope of food. The thought of werewolves brought her to her feet again, pacing the room and adjusting the placement of their silver weapons. She had rearranged the array of silver knives for the third time when Dean finally spoke. 

“Daisy, get some sleep.”

She shook her head. “Can’t. Too dangerous. I need to keep watch.” 

“You won’t be much good in a fight if you don’t get some sleep,” Dean argued. “I’ll keep an eye out. Go to bed.” 

“I’m fine,” she said, stifling a yawn. “I’ll just make some coffee.” 

Dean blocked her path to the small kitchenette and gripped her arm. “Go. To. Sleep,” he ordered flatly. “This isn’t a discussion.” He pushed gently, propelling her back a few steps. She swayed and caught her balance. 

“Okay, okay,” she surrendered. “Wake me if anything changes.” She collapsed back into the chair rather than the bunk, in stubborn compromise, and was asleep within moments.

Dean watched her breathing grow deep and steady for a minute, then turned away, satisfied. Daisy was running herself ragged trying to keep up with Sam’s injuries as well as his own. It was only a matter of time before the werewolves found them, and Dean knew they all needed to be as fit to fight as they could be. 

While Sam and Daisy slept, Dean poked through the cabinets and Daisy’s emergency supplies. There wasn’t much in the way of food, but he found cans of chili and peaches in the kitchen and granola bars and jerky in the duffel bags. It would make as good a lunch as any and better than a few he had had in the past. They couldn’t stay here much longer, though. Their supplies wouldn’t feed the three of them for more than another day.

Sam woke to the smell of chili boiling on the small stove. He pushed himself to his elbows with a groan, then looked around. Dean stood in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. Daisy was curled up in an armchair by the fire, sound asleep. Sam managed to sit all the way up, then took stock. He felt better than he had since this whole werewolf business had started. His fever was gone, as was the aching heaviness that had plagued him since his capture.

Dean glanced over at him, then poured a second cup of coffee. He limped to the bunk and held one cup out to Sam. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Sam said, still surprised. “Really good. How about you?”

“My leg is killing me,” Dean said bluntly, “and broken ribs just make everything harder.” 

Sam nodded sympathetically and took a sip. Steam poured off the surface, warming his face. “And Daisy?”

Dean glanced over at their friend. “She’s exhausted, but should be good after a couple hours of sleep.” He lowered himself onto the bunk. “Any idea about the werewolf poison? I’ve seen that black stuff come from scratches, but you didn’t have any. They do anything to you while you were gone?” 

Sam frowned, searching his memory. “They took me to some farmhouse about twenty minutes north. Asked a lot of questions about you and where you were, then a few questions about Daisy.” Then he looked up sharply. “The Alpha injected me with something,” he said, “on one of his last attempts to get information. Maybe it was the same stuff they’ve been putting on their claws.” 

Dean nodded, accepting the explanation. “It’s a nasty poison,” he commented. “You sure you’re good?”

“I’m sure, Dean.”

Dean finished his coffee while Sam got dressed. The movement woke Daisy, and she sat up, stretching and yawning. Together, they ate their scant lunch with weapons close to hand. When they finished, Daisy tapped Dean’s arm. 

“Let me take a look at your bandages.”

“They’re fine,” Dean insisted, but Daisy wasn’t convinced. He was limping more than before, and his breathing was shallow and deliberate. They moved to the fire where it was warmer, and Daisy carefully peeled the bandages back. 

The stab wound on his leg was swollen and an angry red, but there were no other signs of infection. Daisy traced her fingertip around the perimeter of the wound, and Dean inhaled sharply. She fished out an antiseptic from her bags and applied it liberally. Dean’s hands curled into white-knuckled fists. She reapplied the antibiotic cream, then butterflied the skin back together before winding gauze securely around his leg.

Once Dean had had a chance to catch his breath and settle from that procedure, Daisy tugged at his shirt. “Off,” she directed. “I need to check your ribs.”

Dean glared at her and didn’t move. She shrugged. “Then I’ll help.” Moving carefully and ignoring Dean’s muttered protests, Daisy lifted the hem of his shirt, bunching it up and looping it over her thumb. She rested her hand against his arm, exposing the bruises that mottled Dean’s side. She hissed sympathetically, but did not hesitate. Her cool fingers probed his ribs on either side, drawing yelps of pain and curses from her patient. Finally, she leaned back and released his shirt. 

“I think it’s just the one,” she reported. “I know it hurts, but try to take deep breaths whenever you can. You don’t want to end up with pneumonia.” 

Dean glared at her as she lowered his shirt back into place. “Your bedside manner needs work,” he growled, retreating further into the chair.

She smiled, then reached over and tousled his hair. He tried to jerk his head away, but she was too fast. “You’re just grumpy,” she said, excessively cheerful. “You’ll feel better soon.”

From where he sat on the far side of the fire, Sam grinned. “He’s always grumpy, broken ribs or no.”

“We’ll just see how you feel with bro—” Dean stopped in the middle of the retort, his eyes darting to the window. 

Sam and Daisy had heard it too, a rustle of movement outside. Immediately they were on their feet and filling their hands with silver, Dean a step behind. 

Daisy checked the bolt on the front door, then peeked out one of the front windows. No one was in sight. The twenty yards or so of ground between the cabin and the woods was clear. She watched for movement in the trees. 

“Sam,” she whispered. “Do you have any idea how many are left?”

“I saw seven of them at the farmhouse, plus the one who took me there.”

“We killed two before you were taken,” Daisy said. 

“And two more when the Alpha found us,” Dean added quietly.

“Then we killed four in the woods on our way here yesterday.” Daisy double-checked her mental tally. “If there were ten in the pack, then there are at least two of them left.” 

“And one of them is the Alpha,” Sam warned. 

Daisy’s reply was cut off by a flutter of movement in the trees to the west. She raised her pistol, favoring its long-range accuracy over the short-range efficacy of her shotgun, and watched again for motion. “I’ve got one out front.”

“There’s at least one out here, too,” Dean said from his post by the north windows. He held a modified, short-barreled Mauser rifle loaded with silver rounds. “Maybe two.”

“There’s another here,” Sam reported grimly. His main view was out the back to the east, but he was close enough to the southern windows to keep an eye on them as well. 

“Dean Winchester!” The harsh, gravelly voice boomed across the clearing. Daisy peered out the window and saw two werewolves step out of the trees in front of her. She recognized one as the Alpha. 

“Dean Winchester!” The Alpha yelled again. “You will answer for the death of my father!”

“What’s the question?” Daisy asked with grim humor, drawing a chuckle from the brothers. She tugged at the latch, then eased the window open a couple inches and poked the barrel of her gun outside. Carefully, she sighted then pulled the trigger. 

The sharp report of the gun was immediately followed by a howl of pain from the werewolf next to the Alpha. Both monsters took a step further back into the trees. 

“Did you get him?” Dean asked, his eyes still on the woods out his window. 

“I winged the flunky,” Daisy said unhappily. “Got his right arm. Not a kill shot.” 

The words were scarcely out of her mouth when Sam opened fire, three quick shots in succession. He gave a satisfied grunt. “One down,” he said. 

“At least three left,” Dean warned. “Keep your eyes open. Daisy, switch with me.”

Daisy didn’t like it, but understood why. With the Alpha intent on making Dean pay, this was personal. She crossed to the north wall, and Dean took her place at the front. There was silence then, as both the hunters and the werewolves planned their next moves.

When they came, they came fast, blurs of movement streaking from the trees. Gunfire boomed in the small confines of the cabin. Daisy fired at the werewolf running towards the cabin twice, watched him drop, then lowered her weapon a fraction, looking for new targets. For a long moment, the world seemed frozen in place, with only the sound of her heartbeat to be heard. 

“Sam? Dean?” Her voice sounded strange in the stillness. 

“We’re good,” Sam said. “You?”

“All good,” she replied. “Is that all of them?” 

“I dropped two,” Dean reported. 

“Same,” said Sam.

“And I killed one,” she said. “Total of thirteen. That’s a large pack.” She glanced out the window again. “Sam, stay with Dean. I’m going to take a quick look around outside.”

“Be careful,” Dean cautioned. 

“Just make sure to cover me,” Daisy replied, heading for the door. 

She circled the cabin slowly, keeping one eye on the woods as she checked each werewolf body. The ones Sam had killed were clean shots, straight to the heart. Her handiwork was a little more scattered, testament to her weapon of preference, but no less effective. She came to the Alpha and his companion and approached cautiously.

She crouched next to the lifeless form of the werewolf leader, examining him carefully to make sure that he wouldn’t be getting up again. She didn’t even hear Sam’s warning shout from the cabin. 

The werewolf hit her at full speed like a freight train, sending her sprawling back, her gun knocked from her hand. Daisy hit the ground hard, her breath refusing to come.

“You killed my brother!” 

The female werewolf shrieked the words furiously, pouncing on Daisy and pinning her to the ground. She raised a hand and struck, sinking claws deep into Daisy’s shoulder. Daisy cried out and tried in vain to push her attacker off. With the other hand, she blindly searched for her silver knife, but the frantic attack did not let up. 

Blood roared in her ears as the werewolf tightened her fist around her throat. Daisy’s vision was starting to gray as she finally closed her fingers around the hilt of her silver blade. There was a sharp crack, a heavy weight crushed the air from Daisy’s lungs, and Daisy was swept away on a wave of darkness.

Sam shoved his gun into his waistband and knelt to push the werewolf corpse off of his friend. She lay motionless on the ground, her knife half-drawn from its sheath. Sam saw at once the blood soaking her shirt around her shoulder.

“Get holy water,” he called out to Dean, who stood in the doorway to the cabin, shotgun held at the ready. Then Sam bent and gently gathered Daisy into his arms, bearing her still form into cabin. She did not stir when he laid her carefully on a bunk and pulled her sleeve up and away from the wounds on her upper arm. Already, perspiration glistened on her forehead, and her cheeks were turning pink. The familiar black tendrils sprang from the cuts and began to curve down her arm. 

Sam accepted a glass of holy water from Dean, who hovered anxiously as Sam poured the water over Daisy’s injuries. They breathed simultaneous sighs of relief when the wounds began to hiss and fizz, and the tendrils retreated, turning the blood black before streaming out and fading to nothing. Daisy’s eyes fluttered open, and she tried to sit up. 

Dean was there immediately, placing his hands on her shoulders and pushing her gently back down. “Take it easy for a minute,” he ordered.

Daisy exhaled deeply, then looked up at Sam. “What happened?”

“I think we won,” he said lightly. “Time to go home.”  
***

The next day, Sam and Dean stood next to the Impala, watching Daisy load the last of her thing into her Ford Taurus.

“Are you sure you don’t want to hang out for another day?” Sam asked hopefully. “You’ve certainly earned it.”

The Winchesters and their friend had made it back from the cabin, bloodied, bruised, tired, and hungry, but alive. After take-out and a good night’s sleep, Daisy had arranged for her car to be towed to the nearest shop for a new set of tires. Sam and Dean had done one last walk-through of the werewolves’ storage facility, with nothing to report. Dinner followed by apple pie for dessert had rounded out their time together, and Daisy was ready to hit the road, sore shoulder or no. 

“Thank you, but no,” she said. “I need to keep moving.” She stood on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to Sam’s cheek. “Make sure Dean takes his medicine,” she said sternly, only half-joking. “He doesn’t want that wound to get infected.”

“Yes, mother,” Dean teased, draping an arm over her shoulders. 

She laughed and kissed him on the cheek as well. “Stay out of trouble, you too. And be sure to call me, Sam, if you ever plan on getting kidnapped by werewolves again.” 

“Back at you,” Sam retorted, holding the car door for her. 

With a laugh, Daisy slid inside and started the engine. “By the way,” she said, rolling down the window as the car began to inch forward. “Happy Halloween!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 Prompts:  
> Harsh Climate, Friendly Fire, Self-Sacrifice, Drowning, Restraints, Broken Ribs, “I can’t walk,” Severe Illness, Siezure, Caregiver, Showdown


End file.
